I haven’t known Coach Gomez very long, but I figured out quick that he likes to know about personnel problems on his team. He’s serious, too, still nearly as fit as when he was a player and a straight talker. The silvery strands in his otherwise dark hair glint in the late afternoon light as he waits for my response. “No. There was a little miscommunication, but I’m handling it.” He nods. “What kind of miscommunication?” Damnit, I’d been hoping to leave it at that. He’ll smell bullshit for sure if I try to lie. “A girl.” Embarrassment burns my throat at the admission.
